


All Things Ours

by Chiyume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas fic, Christmas in the Bunker, Cute, First Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, New Year's Kiss, New Year's Resolutions, New Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5574517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel doesn't understand Christmas, but that doesn't mean he's not willing to give it a shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our First Christmas

 

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel had never celebrated Christmas, due to three main reasons.

One: Because he was — or at least had been, until very recently — an Angel of the Lord, and angels didn’t celebrate Christmas.

Two: Christmas was supposedly held to celebrate Jesus’ birthday, only Castiel was one of the few humans now on earth who had the privilege to say that he knew for a fact that Jesus birthday had taken place in June, not December, and that the weather had been awful.

Three: Castiel honestly failed to understand what a white bearded man wearing a red suit and wielding a span of flying reindeer had to do with Jesus in the first place.

However, celebrating Christmas was an undoubtedly important part of being a human — at least when living in the United States — and even more so, it was important to Dean and Sam. Castiel knew that the two brothers tried to act as if the holidays didn’t mean anything in particular to them, but he dared say that he knew them both well enough by now to tell a facade from genuine disinterest when he saw one. They had been through rough times lately and if Christmas could help them to relax and let go of the bad things for just a few days, then Castiel was determined to make it no less than perfect for their sake.

He began by studying the second biggest — yet undisputedly largest — protagonist of Christmas: Santa Claus.

Santa Claus, derived from Saint Nicholas. A jolly, fat man in a red suit and a white beard, that somehow managed to make it down every single chimney in the world in one night only, to deliver gifts to children who had been ‘nice’. Honestly, and people thought God was a fake?

He decided to not linger on the subject. Sam and Dean were hardly considered children anymore, and Castiel suspected that even Santa Claus would have a hard time deciding which list the two of them had earned to be put down on this year. Or any year for that matter.

Instead, he moved on to the Christmas tree.

It had to be tall, thick, and bushy. There would be a required amount of lights, tinsel, and little, shiny glass baubles needed, and, of course, a tree topper of sorts. Castiel decided to go with a star — why anyone would want to place an angel in a tree was something he couldn’t quite comprehend.

Both Sam and Dean were very surprised when they returned to the bunker after a hunt in early December to find a big evergreen tree, covered in various Christmas decorations, residing in their library. Sam had spent a good ten minutes walking around it, gingerly touching the tree’s ornaments while continuously beaming wide, excited smiles in Castiel’s direction. Dean had only commented on the tree’s sudden presence with a long, impressed whistle, but Castiel saw the way the human’s lips quirked up in pleased little smiles whenever he walked through the library later that evening, sending appreciative glances up and down the sparkling branches.

They had helped decorate the rest of the bunker after that.

Dean and Cas wrapped Christmas lights around the entire entry staircase railing, and Sam found two sets of golden candlesticks down in the basement storage that were given honorary placement on each side of the two electric lights on the library tables. As a second thought Cas also wrapped Christmas lights around the library telescope. Just for good measure.  

However, Sam and Castiel found that they had to join forces in order to convince Dean that putting up a wreath over the fireplace was _not_ girly, and would do absolutely nothing to diminish the bunker’s level of masculinity.

The two brothers seemed amused by Castiel’s sudden — bordering to childlike — fascination with Christmas, and they both seemed more than willing to indulge him in this new hobby. When Dean caught Castiel hanging mistletoe in the archway to the library, however, he nearly threw a fit.

“Who the hell are we supposed to kiss under that thing anyway?” he demanded, waving his hand towards the plant in Castiel’s hand, Castiel was standing on a chair, still in the process of attaching said plant to a little nail wedged in between the tiles of the wall.

“It’s tradition, Dean,” Castiel answered calmly.

“I don’t care if it’s federal law, Cas, take the damn thing down!”

“It looks nice,” Castiel argued, still paying no heed to Dean’s complaints. Sure, the mistletoe tradition was born out of pagan lore, but it was tradition, and it did look nice. As for the kissing, he couldn’t think of any reason to mind it, even though Dean apparently found the activity disturbing. He tied the last knot and stepped down from the chair, regarding his work.

“I’m not going into the library while that thing’s there,” Dean declared gruffly, but Castiel didn’t answer. He just tilted his head to to the side, narrowing his eyes at the little green leafs.

“Maybe I should have gotten a bigger cluster?” he mumbled, upon which Dean threw his hands over his head and left with a disgusted sound to the back of his throat.

Next up was the music.

It was no secret that Christmas seemed to come with an abundance of specific, musical tunes that were mandatory to play anywhere and everywhere, for as long as possible.

Some of them were reinterpretations of old, religious hymns, while others were new and in no way whatsoever religious. For example, every female artist in the world seemed to have mysteriously obtained a close to morbid obsession with Santa, and even though Castiel wasn’t one to judge other people’s preferences, he still couldn’t see where exactly the sexual attraction came from.

Apparently, there were also other things that he had trouble understanding, which he had been graciously informed of when he, after having listened to yet another jingle bell accompanied song on Sam’s laptop, had carefully removed the headphones (some songs made Dean retch, apparently), and turned towards the younger Winchester who was sitting by the other table, reading and drinking coffee.

“Sam. Do I require new clothes for Christmas?”

Sam looked up from the book in his hand and blinked, a frown slowly appearing on his face.

“Nooo…?” he said, hesitantly dragging the sound of the vowel out until the word became a question all on its own, rather than an answer. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

Castiel looked down at himself, taking in the pair of hand-me-down jeans he had gotten from Dean, and the washed out black AC/DC shirt covering his chest.

“It’s just…” he started, pinching the fabric of his t-shirt between his thumb and index finger. “I’m not sure if these are gay enough?”

By the other table Sam almost spat coffee all over his book.

“That they’re not _what_ enough?” he choked, upon which Castiel turned to him, frowning.

“Isn’t Christmas the season when you’re supposed to don your gay apparel?” he asked, confused, and Sam had to put his cup down before he accidentally spilled the rest all over himself from laughing too hard.

A few minutes later, after Sam had decided that Castiel would probably need an urban dictionary for Christmas, Castiel had also become acutely aware of how the use of the word ‘gay’ had changed during the past two millennia.

“Ancient Greece never had these kinds of problems...” he muttered to himself as he turned back to the laptop to listen to the next Christmas song on his playlist. If Sam had to bite the inside of his cheek at that just to keep himself from laughing again, then at least Castiel was gracious enough to not notice it.

Then came what Castiel considered to be the hardest part.

Christmas shopping.

Castiel didn’t exactly have any great past experiences with stores, and to make matters worse he realized all too late that he would actually have to do this part all by himself. He couldn’t exactly bring Sam and Dean with him when picking out their gifts —  that would counteract the purpose of the whole endeavour.

So that’s how Castiel found himself at the local mall, on the 17th of December, in the middle of the December Christmas Shopping Rush, looking to buy two grown men who kill monsters for a living Christmas gifts.

He spent almost two full hours just wandering around, looking, and again he couldn’t help but notice how Christmas seemed to serve more to put stress on people than it did calming them down. Everywhere people were running, shouting, pulling, crowding, pushing with strollers, carts, shopping baskets, bags and screaming children dragged along by a tight grip of the elbow.

Wherever the Christmas spirit was supposed to be found at this time of year, it sure wasn’t anywhere near this particular place...

It turned out that picking out gifts for Sam was easier than Castiel had expected.

He found a flash drive for Sam’s laptop, a hairbrush with boar bristles that the kind lady at the store assured him was the most hair friendly type of brush on the market, and a Christmas sweater with a red-nosed reindeer on it. He didn’t really know why, but the last one just seemed fitting.

Dean’s gifts, on the other hand, were a nightmare. Cas had absolutely no idea what to buy. Everything he looked at only seemed appropriate at first glance, but didn’t meet the requirements upon closer inspection. He couldn’t bring himself to simply pick something at random — it had to be perfect — but nothing came across as suitable.

It was very frustrating.

He looked at a new robe, — a white and gray, pinstriped creation — but then he remembered how much Dean loved the one he already had. Castiel wasn’t sure of Dean would actually use a new one even if Cas bought it for him. Buying things for the Impala was out of the question, seeing as Dean was so picky about the stuff he used that Castiel didn’t want to take any risks.

No matter what he thought of, a little voice in the back of his head seemed determined to find something wrong with the suggestion. It told him that Dean would think the gift was silly, childish, or downright useless and it made him cringe inside and out. He wanted Dean to be happy with his choice. A part of him was even daring to hope for excited, but it was a flame quickly extinguished by doubt the more the tried to find anything to accomplish that task. His distress on the matter must have been evident on his face, because suddenly there was a gentle cough heard on his left, and when he turned he saw that a young woman had come up to stand next to him with her hands politely folded in front of her, looking at him expectantly.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.

Castiel’s eyes drifted to the little name tag at the front of the woman’s shirt. She was a store clerk.

“Oh…” he looked down at the box of cologne he was still holding and then carefully put it back.

“I’m looking for Christmas gifts,” he explained.

“I see.” She glanced at the cologne Castiel had just returned to the shelf. “For a friend?” she asked and Castiel somehow managed to nod and shrug at the same time.

“We live together,” he clarified, and the woman’s eyes widened momentarily before she fired off a dazzling smile at him while turning just a few degrees to the right.

“Well, then maybe these could be something of interest?” She pointed to another shelf and Castiel nodded again.

“Yes, I was thinking something along that line myself. I’m just worried he’ll take it as if I think he smells bad,” he added, a twinge of concern to his voice. The woman laughed and shook her head with understanding.

“A lot of people worry about that, but I assure you, that’s not what you think when you get a cologne like this.”

“I see.” Castiel smiled back, thinking it better to show his enthusiasm over the news, which apparently was the right kind of response.

“So.” The woman brought her hands together in a happy little clap. “What kind of fragrances does he like?”

An hour later, Castiel left the mall, carrying several bags in his hands as he pushed himself across the parking lot towards his gold Lincoln Continental.

As it turned out, asking the store clerks for advice had been the most efficient way to get the shopping done. After picking a cologne he had stopped by two other stores and the personnel had been more than helpful in his search. They all seemed very fascinated by the fact that he and Dean lived together; as if that piece of information had been vital for the choice of gift somehow, but Castiel wasn’t about to argue — after all, who knew more about Christmas shopping than the people who did the actual sales?

The only thing that he hadn’t thought of beforehand was the fact that he probably should have allowed the store personnel to gift wrap the actual gifts as well before he left the store. Human hands couldn’t possibly have been designed to handle things such as wrapping paper, tape, and plastic strings, especially not all at once. At least _his_ weren’t.

He had, after a lot of failed attempts to wrap his purchases, given up and resorted to do a Google search on gift wrapping tutorials, ending up with a rather promising video on Youtube which he then tried to follow. His attempts didn’t come out anything like the perfectly wrapped boxes the woman showed on the screen, however — probably because Castiel hadn’t been foreseeing enough to acquire any boxes...

After his fifth, and failed attempt to wrap up Sam’s hairbrush, he gave up. He had to start out with something easier, and preferably box-shaped, if he was ever going to produce something that didn’t look like a mass of crinkled paper and haphazardly curled strings.

To the Winchester’s growing annoyance, things mysteriously began to disappear from various places around the bunker during the following days. A box of 9mm ammo went missing from the trunk of the Impala. The toolbox suddenly couldn’t be found anywhere near the garage, no matter how hard the brothers looked for it. Sam found himself awkwardly staring at the suddenly lone shoe by the foot of his bed, where he was sure he had left two, right before he went to take a shower, and Dean spent an entire afternoon rummaging through the couch for the remote control, before he eventually gave up and went to clean his guns instead.

On the 22nd of December, an impressive pile of gifts had been stacked up beneath the branches of the bunker’s Christmas tree. No one questioned where they had come from or whom they were for, and so for the same reasons, no one asked why Dean’s sudden retrieval of the remote control happened to coincide with one of said gifts inexplicable disappearance from said pile.

It was a good thing though, because with the remote back they could all enjoy the wide variety of Christmas movies that aired on television on Christmas Eve. Castiel sat perched in one of the big wing chairs, a notepad in his hands and his eyes fixed on the TV as he watched a robber get electrocuted through a door handle by a ten year old child, while his partner received a dozen cans of paint to the head when falling down the stairs to the basement. Sam and Dean both appeared to be highly amused by the movie, and Castiel would admit that it had its charms, even though he found the purpose of some of its events very confusing. For reasons he didn’t understand, all Christmas movies seemed obligated to contain a substantial amount of bodily injuries and destruction of property. He looked down at the list scribbled down on the notepad, and after a moment of thoughtful contemplation he added the words ‘ _Family Planner_ ’ at the bottom, just below the post ‘ _Christmas Ghosts - friends or foes?_ ’.

If there was one thing he _did_ understand by watching Christmas movies, however, it was the fact that food was an essential part of the celebration. Which was the main reason why Dean woke up on Christmas morning to find Castiel rummaging around the kitchen, performing what could only be referred to as waging war against their pantry; waving pans and ladles around as though they were lethal weapons while dressed in a frilly, blue apron and an equally blue Christmas sweater,

Chocolate fudge, Christmas cookies, cranberry sauce, eggnog, fruitcake, ham, turkey, buttered rum, hot chocolate, mashed potatoes, persimmon and plum puddings, prime ribs and tea cakes; the kitchen was literally drowning in mugs, pitchers, pots, pans and platters, all brimming with food and drink. All in all it was a feast fit for a king, or at least a duke of some kind, yet none of the previously mentioned dishes made Dean even half as enthusiastic as when he spotted the pies.

Castiel had made apple, mince, pecan, pumpkin, sweet potato, and strawberry pies, just to make sure he got all of the essentials covered, and he had arranged for them to be served with either meat sauce, whipped cream, custard or ice cream, depending on what people preferred. Castiel pretended that he didn’t notice it when Dean stuck his fingers down the bowl of whipped cream when he passed, but he did give him a slap on the wrist with the rolling pin when he tried to steal an entire plate of chocolate chip cookies from the counter moments later.

“But I’m hungry!” Dean complained, nursing his hand close to his chest with an offended pout.

“Then I suggest you eat something a bit more nutritious,” Castiel said, returning to the task of rolling out the gingerbread dough. “The cookies are for later.”

“There’s more than enough to go around, Cas.” Dean gestured to the rest of the kitchen. “Besides, you’re supposed to eat all kinds of things, in whatever order you like, on Christmas — that’s the whole point.”

When Castiel didn’t answer Dean threw a glance at the dough on the counter.

“What’s that you’re doing, by the way?” he asked

“I’m making a gingerbread house,” Castiel answered, bending down to cut out the short side wall of said construction with a knife. On his left Dean seemed to bite the inside of his cheek for a moment, looking down at Castiel’s hands as he worked before suddenly narrowing his eyes.

“Dude, where did you even get all this stuff?” he asked suspiciously. “More importantly, how did you _pay_ for it?”

“Credit cards.” Castiel answered absentmindedly to which Dean’s jaw abruptly dropped, his eyes wide and incredulous.

“ _My_ credit cards?!” he choked.

“Technically they’re not yours, Dean.”

“Well, I applied for them,” Dean muttered sourly. “Credit card fraud ain’t exactly a walk in the park these days.”

“Didn’t see your name on any of them,” Cas objected matter-of-factly.

“That’s why it’s called _fraud,_ Cas. Couldn’t we just have ordered pizza or something?” Dean looked at the mountains of food around them, suddenly dismayed. “I mean, this is great. Like, really, this is heaven, but we’re never going to be able to finish all this. We’re going to have to throw away like half of it, at least.”

“Dean…” Castiel turned towards him, head tilted reproachfully to the side. “If it truly makes you feel better you can eat whatever you like. I promise that the food won’t go to waste, so please, stop being such a Grinch about it.”

Dean’s mouth shut with an offended snap and Castiel gave him a comforting little pat on the shoulder as he passed the hunter on his way to the fridge.

“Have some pie, Dean. It’s Christmas.”

Dean muttered something under his breath that Castiel didn’t quite make out — something about revoked TV privileges — then he snatched himself a plateful of apple and cinnamon pie, along with five full scoops of whipped cream, before he grumpily stomped out of the kitchen with the spoon already dangling in between his lips.

Dean returned three times to restock his plate with pie, although Castiel suspected that the third time was more out of spite than anything else. Sam came dragging into the kitchen about half an hour later, wiped the lingering sleep from his eyes, grabbed a cup of coffee and staggered out, only to come staggering back inside seconds later with eyes wide as saucers as he blinked at the room with eyes suddenly looking a lot more awake than before.

Castiel served them breakfast in the library, and once they had all eaten their fill it was time to open their gifts.

Dean immediately declared himself Santa and spent the entire time distributing gifts delivering them poorly constructed Christmas rhymes, which he made up on the go — some of them didn’t even rhyme, but Dean didn’t seem to care.

Sam thanked Castiel for the new flash drive, and when he opened his reindeer sweater he laughed out loud and immediately put it on. Dean laughed at the hairbrush, at which Sam tried to hit his older brother over the head with it, missing miserably.

Then it was time for Dean to open his gifts.

Dean actually looked as if he appreciated the cologne, even though he seemed slightly confused about Castiel’s choice of gift. When he unwrapped the second present, which was a pair of white, incredibly fluffy socks — adorned with tiny red and equally fluffy hearts — his his mouth opened and closed indecisively a few times before finally firing off a smile, thanking Castiel for the gift.

Then Dean opened his third gift, which was a DIY mixtape for the Impala, labeled “FOR DEAN” with neatly printed letters. Sam shot Dean an amused little glance and a snicker at that, but Dean ignored him, thanking Cas once again.

Castiel didn’t understand why Sam found the gift so funny; the guy at the record store had assured Cas that if Dean really liked music so much, then a mixtape with his favourite kind of songs was a perfect present for Cas to give. Perhaps Sam had misunderstood the gift? If so, Castiel would have to explain it to him later.

However, when Dean opened his fourth and final gift Sam abruptly disappeared beneath the table top with a quiet wheeze, before Dean had even unpacked the item properly.

Dean held up his new Christmas sweater and Castiel waited expectantly for the verdict. He saw Dean swallow as his eyes flickered in between Castiel’s face and the sweater before the corner of his mouth quirked into a hesitant little smile.

“Wow, Cas, it’s…” He cleared his throat. “It’s really special.”

“The store clerk said it was very popular.” Castiel offered, licking his lips nervously. He hoped that he hadn’t made a mistake buying that shirt, but he couldn’t see why it would have been. The store had recommended it, very enthusiastically. Matching sweaters for the holidays, they said, was a sweet, caring gesture, sprinkled with a sense of humour. It had sounded exactly like something Dean would appreciate.  

“They did, huh?” Dean’s lip twitched anew, his eyes travelling between the pattern of his green Christmas sweater to the same, identical pattern adorning the blue sweater on Castiel’s body. The pattern of a pair of spread out angel wings, amidst falling snowflakes, with the words ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS ANGEL’ stitched across the chest,

From somewhere below the table came a wailing little noise, and Dean’s body seemed to jerk; the movement followed by the sound of a stomping foot and a new, slightly more pained noise from Sam.

“I love it,” Dean said, beaming reassuringly at Cas, who immediately relaxed. “I like the… color,” he added, as an afterthought.

“I thought the green one would suit you better.” Castiel admitted shyly.

“Yeah, that was probably a good choice.”

There was a brief silence, during which Sam slowly reemerged from beneath the table, face slightly flushed and with tears in his eyes. Castiel thought about asking him if something was wrong, but decided not to. Perhaps this was all part of the Christmas cheer — laughing at things that normally wouldn’t warrant amusement. Instead he turned back towards Dean, who was still clutching the sweater in his hands, as if he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with it.

“I suppose, uh, that you want me to put it on?” Dean asked, and when Castiel only answered by tilting his head expectantly forward, he licked his lips and put the sweater down in favor of pulling off his usual, unbuttoned dress shirt.

It took Sam about an hour before he could look at the two of them with a straight face and every time his lips began to twitch Dean gave him a stern look, nodding his head towards Castiel who was too busy investigating his own Christmas gift to notice what the two brothers were up to.

Sam and Dean had added up and bought him a laptop, since he was always borrowing Sam’s to do human research anyway. Dean had set the desktop wallpaper to a young girl dressed in only a bikini, which Sam apparently hadn’t been aware of, going by the look he sent his brother when Cas started the computer up. After a few minutes of deliberation, Castiel changed the background to an image of a snow covered lake instead. It reminded him of the river that ran just outside the bunker. He liked it.

Castiel was so busy enjoying his new gift that he completely forgot about the second tin of gingerbread cookies he had in the oven, and it wasn’t until Sam started sniffing the air suspiciously that they realized that something was wrong.

The gingerbread cookies sadly didn’t make it, but no one mourned them very much.

They spent the rest of the day drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream and almond rum in front of the fireplace, and Castiel had to admit that even he was surprised at how soothingly relaxing doing nothing after such a long time of preparing could be. Sam and Dean were taking turn roasting marshmallows over the fire (because, according to Dean, nuts were not sweet enough) and on the TV a very stressed out father was in the middle of a rather complicated transformation needed in order to become a fill-in for Santa.

It was a pleasant, contented moment, and Castiel would even go so far as to say that he was glad that he had been given the chance to experience it as a human, not an angel. As an angel he would not have been able to enjoy the comfort his chair provided to his pleasantly aching muscles, or the warmth the open fire spread through his body, or even the intimate, soothing effect the sound of Dean and Sam’s muffled voices had on his heart. As a mere mortal he was allowed to experience all these things to the fullest without barriers or safety nets, and he decided that as scary as that could be from time to time, it was still worth every single minute of being human.

He smiled, closing his eyes as he took another slow sip from his mug, and had he still been an angel, he would have felt the way Dean’s eyes turned to look at him as he did. He would have known, without seeing, that Dean was thinking about something very, very hard, and had he been an angel, he would have been able to sift through the human’s mind until he managed to locate and determine what exactly that something was.

But he wasn’t an angel, not anymore, so instead he sat there, graciously unaware of Dean’s eyes on him as the oldest Winchester kept throwing concealed glances his way through the remainder of the afternoon, absentmindedly plucking at the hem of his new, green sweater as he did so.

Had he known that, then perhaps what happened next wouldn’t have come as such a shock.

 

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Our Bad Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can’t stop thinking about Christmas Day, Sammy is so done with his brother’s shit, and Cas is painfully oblivious.  
> (Does end happily regardless of title, just trust me ;) )

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

Cas was fidgeting again.

Dean watched from his chair in the library how the angel paced, back and forth across the hallway, mumbling under his breath while throwing worried glances at the staircase leading to the bunker’s entrance.

“You’re lucky we don’t have a carpet out here, or you would have had to buy us a new one by now,” Dean called through the opening, and Castiel flinched, stopping mid-step to turn around and look at it him through the doorway.

“He’s been gone for too long,” the former angel said firmly. “He should have been back by now.”

“Cas, relax.” Dean gave him a pointed look over the top of the newspaper he was reading. “Sam’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“But what if something’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened, Cas,” Dean groaned, tipping his head back. “Sam’s probably just stuck in a line at the supermarket or something. You know he can’t leave that place without his eco friendly greens, and it’s  probably packed right now. It’s New Year’s Eve, for cryin’ out loud!”

Castiel muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” Dean asked, and Castiel glared at him.

“I said, I don’t understand how you can be so calm,” he repeated testily.

“Practice, Cas. When you’re a big brother you kind of get used to it after a while.”

Castiel gnawed on the inside of his cheek — Dean could see the tension in his jaw all the way from where he was sitting — and then sighed deeply, his shoulders drooping.

“I suppose that makes a fair argument,” he grated out. “Family relations here on earth are a bit more… emotional, than they are in heaven.”

“Yeah, you guys didn’t seem to be all that close…” Dean commented slowly, fingers crinkling the corners of the newspaper. He hadn't really figured out how to address the fact that Castiel wasn’t an angel anymore. The guy didn’t seem like he cared, but you could never be too sure, and not knowing what tone to take on the subject made Dean feel very uncomfortable.

“The term ‘siblings’ was more God’s way of letting us know we were connected to each other,” Castiel clarified. “Angels were not born — we were created — which makes actual blood bonds nonexistent.”

Dean nodded. He had sort of figured as much already.

Castiel sighed again and left his spot in the doorway to take a seat at the opposite side of the table where he then sat in silence for a while, looking down at his own hands.

“I was one of the last,” he suddenly declared, and the tone of his voice made Dean look up from the article he was reading once more.

“God channeled his power through my being at about the same time as he finished his construction of Adam. Perhaps that’s the reason why—” Cas cut himself off, licking his lips. “Perhaps that's the reason why I always did look at mankind in a different way than my brothers and sisters,” he continued.

“I’ve felt more connected to the human race in this short time than I have to anything in heaven during my entire existence… My fall shouldn’t have come as such a surprise as it did.”

“Cas, man…”

Castiel looked up at him, face surprised.

“I’m not unhappy about it, Dean,” he assured him. “I made a choice.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to like it,” Dean countered.

“It will take some time getting used to, I’m not denying that,” Castiel said firmly. “However, as long as I get to be here, with you and Sam, doing what you do, I’m perfectly fine.”

Dean swallowed, turning away from the honesty in Castiel’s eyes. He knew Cas wasn’t lying, but for some reason that bothered him more than an actual lie would have. Cas seemed to notice, because he leaned forward across the table, inclining his head to catch Dean’s gaze again.

“I’m fine, Dean. Truly I am.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, straightening the paper and ducking his head down behind it. “I guess that’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it?”

“Not all,” Castiel argued. “Your opinion is important to me too, but you shouldn’t waste your time worrying about me. I’m happy with the way things are.”

Dean licked his lips, tipping his chair back on two legs while keeping his face safely hidden from the searching look in Castiel's eyes.

There it was again. That word. ’Happy.’ Cas had been using that word an awful lot lately — so much, in fact, that it had begun to sound hollow to Dean’s ears. Was Cas truly happy? Or did he just say that to make Dean stop worrying? The guy had lost everything; his home, his family, his wings… He wasn’t an angel anymore, he was only… well, a guy. A guy, who just barely had begun to understand how to function in modern society. Cas wasn't a slacker; he did his research, submerging himself in new pieces of information regarding humanity's little quirks almost every day.  

Like the whole Christmas thing. Dean had thought that had been some kind of self healing process, — something Castiel had wanted to do in order to take his mind of the thoughts on his own fall from heaven — but the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that it had been about something else entirely.

He had thought about it a lot lately, Christmas…

About Cas. About the gifts he got Dean. About what must have gone through Cas’s head when he bought them.

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t like them, because he did. The cologne was awesome, the socks were heaven on the bunker’s freezing tiled floors — something no amount of quips from Sam would ever change — and the mixtape wasn’t that bad either. Except that it wasn’t as much a mix as it was a recording straight from the radio, including the DJ’s chatter in between songs, but Dean didn’t mind. Even the sweater was, well, maybe not good looking, but it was pretty darn comfortable. Though Dean would rather die than admit that to anyone who asked.

What bothered him about it all was the fact that they were all… well, they were all such clichés. _Romantic_ clichés.

Sam had spotted it almost right away, but Dean hadn’t understood what was going on until he had unwrapped the sweater. The _matching_ sweater.

He still didn't completely get it. A month ago it would have been a ridiculous thought; that Cas might actually have a thing for him. That Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, and now Newbie Human, might be interested in him romantically.

Had it been any other guy, Dean would have laughed it off, but this was _Cas_.

Cas, who had once pulled him out of hell and pieced his body back together like the world’s most fucked up jigsaw puzzle. Cas, who had seen every single nasty, bruised and battered piece of his soul and still decided that he was worth sticking around for.

Dean couldn’t laugh it off, and what was even worse was that he was starting to think that he didn’t want to either.

During the past week he had begun to notice things. Little things that he had never paid attention to before. Like how Cas’s hands moved when he folded the laundry. Or the way his mouth would sometimes quirk up in a smile when he was reading. Or that adorable little frown he sometimes got when he was sitting in front of his laptop, reading something he didn’t quite understand off the internet.

Tiny, irrelevant little details that wouldn’t have bothered him in the slightest less than a month ago, but now they did. They made his heart beat faster, made his stomach flutter. Sometimes a smile from Cas could keep him ridiculously happy for hours afterwards, without any reason whatsoever. It wasn’t anything sexual — at least not yet — but it was still new all the same. He constantly found himself lingering around the other man, trying to soak up his presence for as long as he could. He couldn’t stop himself from staying close to him, or looking at him, and whenever he wasn’t, he couldn’t keep himself from thinking of him. Cas was inside his head, under his skin, yet for reasons Dean didn’t understand, he didn’t seem to find those things even half as disturbing as he had thought he would.

What he did find disturbing, was the fact that Cas didn’t seem to _care_.

The guy was still walking around the bunker, acting the same way as he always had. There was no change in his behaviour towards Dean whatsoever, and it was starting to freak Dean out.

Shouldn’t Cas be a little bit embarrassed, at least? He had practically given Dean a complete boyfriend-gift-bag for Christmas, and now he was acting as if that had never happened?

Then again, Dean had told him he loved the gifts, so maybe Cas had taken that as some kind of acceptance? Shit, had Dean unknowingly already agreed to go steady with the dude or something? Cas didn’t exactly do communication very well, and even though he had been with them for quite some time now, he still had trouble making use of the little nuances that defined a person’s ‘social skills’.

Dean could be overreacting, of course. There was always the possibility that Cas wasn’t into him at all, and this was all just some sort of horrible misunderstanding. Dean tried his best to ignore the gaping feeling that opened up inside his chest whenever he thought about that.

Would it be worth a shot? Fuck, Dean wasn't even sure if he _wanted_ to take a shot. Things were, as Cas had said, fine the way they were. If Dean tried to meddle with it now, he might screw up the only stable thing they had left, and he would never be able to live with himself if that happened.

His thoughts went to the talk he had with Sam the other day, when his annoyance of a little brother had spotted the way Dean kept sneaking glances at Cas, who was seated next to the Christmas tree, laptop perched on his lap.

Sam had cleared his throat while giving Dean's knee a little nudge underneath the library table, and Dean had responded by giving him a silent glare. Sam had not cared.

“You plan on telling him anytime soon?”

“Tell who what?” Dean answered apathetically, turning the pages of the book before him.

“Cas. About… you know.”

Dean sent him another glare, but Sam’s puppy eyes didn’t falter. Sure, Dean may not have been as discreet as he thought he had, but that didn’t mean that he had to admit anything.

“About what?” he said instead, trying to look as bored by the topic as possible, which was hard, considering the way his heart was currently racing inside his chest.

Sam sighed, and the puppy eyes morphed into a reproachful glower.

“Dean, if your face was any easier to read, you’d be a book.” Sam flickered a glance at Castiel to make sure the other wasn’t listening. “You don’t think I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him lately?”

“And in what way would that be, Doctor Phil?”

“You’ve been looking at him the same way he looks at you,” Sam said and Dean’s jaw clenched.

“Now, I don’t know how it took you so long to realize,” Sam continued, “but it was about time. And I swear, Dean, if I have to sit through even one more day watching you two pine for each other without doing anything about it, I’m going to go crazy.”

Okay, so apparently Dean had been anything _but_ discreet.

“You’re imagining things, Sammy,” he said dryly, to which Sam snorted loudly.

“Yeah, and I suppose Santa’s real too.”

Dean shut his book with a mute bang, turning towards his brother.

“Alright, wise guy. Let’s say you’re right, and that there really was something going on. What would you want me to do? You want me to quote love poems while tossing chocolate boxes at his face, is that it?”

“Charming, Dean,” Sam chided, but then he sighed, sliding back into problem-solving mode. “You know it doesn’t have to be that complicated,” he said. “You’re blowing the whole thing out of proportions.” He gestured towards Cas. “I mean, look at him. If you just asked him about it, I'm sure he wouldn't mind at all.”

Dean threw a sideway glance at Cas, hating himself for the fact that he couldn't resist doing so.

“Have some faith in the guy,” Sam urged. “Now, I don’t care if you decide to fill the bunker up with rose petals, or send him a freaking sing-a-gram, but you have to do _something_.”

“I have to say, Sammy, you seem awfully sure about what exactly it is I wanna convey here,” Dean gritted.

“You’re my brother,” Sam said simply. “I’ve seen you work up the courage to ask someone out before. It usually doesn’t take this long, is all.”

Dean decided not to answer that, and after a few more seconds of staring his brother seemed to have dropped the subject, allowing Dean to get back to his book in peace. Not that Dean could find the focus to keep reading it.

He was abruptly snapped back into the present when he heard the door to the bunker open. He dropped his chair back on all fours just as Sam appeared at the top of the staircase, balancing three boxes of pizza and a grocery bag in his arms.

“What the hell took you so long?” Dean asked when his brother entered the library, placing the boxes on top of the library table.

“Car accident,” Sam explained. “Not the Impala,” he added hastily when he saw Dean’s face blanch. “A truck lost control and ended up in the ditch with the trailer halfway across the road. Created a huge traffic block. The driver was up and talking with the police when I passed though, so it probably wasn’t that bad.”

“Huh,” Dean said, falling back into his seat. Damn, Sammy needed to learn how to deliver the relevant news first. The very thought of Baby in yet another car crash made his insides weep. He glanced across the table, noticing that Castiel also had relaxed considerably since Sam's return, leaning against the backrest of his chair as if hadn't been doing anything else for hours.

Dean had a very strong suspicion that the sudden increase of Castiel's worries was connected to the other’s newfound humanity. The loss of his ability to zap the brothers away from danger at will was something that had bothered Castiel more than anything else, and being stuck in the bunker without knowing if either of them were safe did foul things to the guy's mood… Dean didn't blame him. If someone permanently took away his gun or car he would feel pretty darn helpless too.

The pizza had to be reheated, and when they finally settled down to eat it was almost nine o'clock already.

Apart from Dean’s prediction of eco friendly vegetables, Sam had also bought them tiramisu for dessert (which Dean thought sounded suspiciously much like some kind of sushi), a set of sparkly party hats, because he thought Cas would like them (which he did), and champagne for midnight (which technically was just sparkling wine, but it worked just the same).

Dean brought out some coolers from the fridge, then handed one to Sam, and another to Cas. Castiel’s fingers touched his as the bottle traded hands and Dean tried to act as if that didn’t have anything to do with the sudden elevation of his heart rate, or the sharp tingle that sparked to life inside his gut.

They ate. The pizza was good, the beer was cold and Dean was twitchy.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off Cas, who was still sitting opposite to him, chewing amorously on his pizza. It wasn’t a particularly sexy display, or in any other way suggestive; he just looked like a dude enjoying a very tasty pizza, but Dean still couldn’t stop looking.

He caught himself with his own pizza slice frozen halfway to his mouth, neck-deep in thought about the way Cas would casually suck the flavours of the pizza toppings off his thumb in between bites.Dean didn’t even notice he was staring until he felt Sam’s foot bump against his shin underneath the tabletop.

He quickly stuffed the pizza into his mouth as Sam cleared his throat, looking over at Cas with a wide smile.

“So, Cas,” he started, all cheerful eyes and small-talk. Dean’s mischief-radar immediately started blaring. “Have you thought of any resolutions yet?”

Castiel shook his head, putting his drink down.

“I haven’t decided.”

“Why not?”

“Well… The rules seems a bit… fuzzy,” Castiel admitted and Sam frowned, pulling a face in Dean’s direction.

“What rules?” he asked. “You can promise whatever you want.”

“Exactly,” Castiel answered. “That’s what makes it so difficult. Compared to Christmas, New Year’s seems so… chaotic.”

“I’m pretty sure most people see it the other way around, Cas,” Dean chipped in from his side of the table. Castiel’s eyes turned towards him; blue, earnest and impossibly focused.

“Most people are strange,” he retorted seriously, and Dean found that he couldn’t really argue with that. Instead he turned to Sam, gesturing to him with his bottle.

“What about you, Samantha? Do you have any resolutions you wanna share? As examples?”

Sam made another face, but then he straightened up.

“Alright. My resolution will be to take up running again.”

“You’re such a health freak,” Dean snorted.

“Says you, but I know someone who could benefit from a little exercise.” Sam nodded towards the front of Dean's shirt. “You’re getting flabby, Dean.”

“Shut your face,” Dean muttered, subconsciously sucking his stomach in.

“Is it customary to keep the resolutions around the subject of health?” Cas asked. “It seems to be a popular trend.”

“Healthy resolutions are the easiest ones to make _and_ break,” Dean snickered.

“Why make a promise if you intend to break it?” Castiel asked, genuine concern shining through in his voice.

“People are lazy.” Dean shrugged. “But also because New Year’s resolutions aren’t really a serious thing. People aren’t expected to keep them; they’re just a thing people do to look better than they actually are.”

“Way to kill the mood there, Mr Sarcastic...” Sam muttered.

“It’s true,” Dean defended himself. “Doesn’t make it my fault.”

Castiel was gnawing on his bottom lip now, visually working through this new, unexpected dilemma inside his head.

“So either you decide on a resolution that sounds easy, and break it, or one that’s much harder to keep, and keep it?”

Dean blinked. He had a bit trouble following that one.

“And according to that logic,” Cas continued, “Sam only says he’s going to take up running, but in reality he won’t, because since he's already considered a ‘health freak,’ the resolution to him is easy, and therefore bound to be broken?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that, Cas,” Sam laughed. “It all really depends on the person.”

“Oh…” Castiel sounded disappointed, as if the answer to an incredibly difficult question had once again escaped him.

“Just pick something that means something to you. It doesn’t really matter as long as it’s something you consider important.”

Castiel thought it over, and once again Dean’s eyes got stuck on the spot where Castiel’s teeth pulled at his lower lip while he pondered his decision.

“I want to learn how to fight,” he said eventually, looking up at the two of them. “Properly,” he added. “Without my advantage as an angel, I’m the most vulnerable in the group. I don’t want to hold the two of you back by not being able to fend for myself.”

It wasn’t a lie, but damn, it cut deep into Dean’s heart to hear Cas spell it out so bluntly.

He looked at Sam, who looked back at him, before slapping one of his enormous hands over Castiel’s shoulder.

“That just might be the best New Year’s resolution I’ve ever heard,” he said, beaming. “You make mine sound cheap, man.”

Castiel gave a lopsided little smile at the praise, and Dean quickly swallowed down half of his beer in two large gulps. His stomach did the fluttery thing again, and he valiantly tried to smother it with with the rest of his drink before putting the nearly empty bottle down.

“How about you, Dean?” Castiel suddenly asked. “Did you think of anything yet?”

“C’mon,” Dean snorted. “I don’t do stuff like that.”

“Seriously?” Sam arched his eyebrows at him. “You’ve got nothing? No bad habits you want to change? No…” He threw a quick glance at Cas, and Dean straightened up in his seat. “No new _experiences_ you’d like to have?”

“Nope,” Dean answered, his voice hardening. “Nothing at all.”

Sam’s jaw clenched and the muscles in Dean’s back tensed.

“Dean—”

“I said no, alright?” Dean cut him off before his brother had a chance to say anything else. “I don’t care about any New Year’s resolutions. They’re just stupid crap that stupid people do to make themselves feel better.” He stood up from the table, shoving his chair back.

“So lay off me,” he added, stomping out of the library, but not without noticing the way Castiel had suddenly curled up in his seat, shoulder’s defensively pulled up and gaze glued to the table top. Guilt clawed inside his chest, but he ignored it; his anger with Sam being much greater at the moment.

What the fuck was the guy's problem?! Did he really expect Dean to come clean to Cas through a fucking New Year’s resolution? Really?!

He was so angry he could barely keep his body from shaking when he stomped through the hallway, jaw clenching and fists curling.

He hadn't meant to say the things he did about the resolution itself. Cas was all into human traditions like that, wanting to learn. He had seemed genuinely honest about his own resolution, and then Dean had to stomp his big ass feet all over it like that.

Sam might be a fucking idiot, but Dean was even worse, and he barely resisted the urge to slam his fist against the doorframe out of pure self loathing when he entered the kitchen.

He spent a lot longer getting a new beer from the fridge than what was technically necessary. He didn't want to go back out there, even if he knew that he'd have to. He didn't want to see Sam's scolding frown, or Castiel's hurt expression, and he was still lingering by the sink with the bottle in his hand when Castiel walked in through the kitchen door.

Dean could feel the worried look in the other’s gaze without even looking up, and for some reason Castiel’s concern for him only made him feel even more irritable.

He didn’t need Cas near him right now. At the moment he didn’t want Cas’s eyes, hands or any other part of his body anywhere near him, because he wasn’t really sure about what such a proximity would lead to. He didn't trust himself, and to keep his temper from rising was like trying to hold off a storm brewing.

He could feel every single muscle in his body tense up when Castiel came up to stand next to him by the sink, but he didn’t look up. Instead he kept his eyes fixated on the label of the bottle in his hands, and he must have read the damn thing over a dozen times when Castiel finally spoke.

“I’m sorry if I said something inappropriate out there. I didn't realize that the topic was so upsetting for you.”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the flask, but he didn’t answer. He could feel Castiel’s eyes on him, and it took all he had not to start shaking beneath their weight.

“I’m sure Sam only meant to—”

“You know, I don’t really care what he meant,” Dean snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 _Especially not with you_ , his brain added grimly.

“Dean…”

“Dammit, Cas, I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

His words hurt, he could see the way Castiel flinched when they struck home, and he wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t find the words.

Castiel’s eyes dipped to the floor when he took a step back, Dean’s own doing the same when he saw the hurt look on the other’s face.

“My apologies,” he mumbled, and Dean’s chest ached at the dispirited tone of his voice.

“I’ll just— I’ll be in the library.”

Dean saw the tips of Castiel’s shoes disappear from view, the heavy sound of footsteps exiting the kitchen following soon after, and Dean experienced a few, conflicting seconds when he tried to decide whether he should uncap the beer in his hand and drink it, or hurl it at the wall.

 

/\/\/\

The strike of midnight came and went, and throughout there was a tense, foul mood between Dean and the two other males in the library. It stuck to his skin, cold and clammy like rotting fingers, and every move he made only served to make the feeling worse. He tried to focus on the TV, sort of hoping that it would lessen the tension, but it only seemed to make the silence in the room grow even louder. He resorted himself to drinking. The champagne Sam had bought wasn’t the most classy thing around, but it served its purpose. He downed glass upon glass, almost emptying the entire first bottle all on his own. None of the other two had more than a single glass, and when Dean popped the cork out of the second bottle, they didn’t ask for a refill.

Sam tried to act normal, going about his usual strategy of pretending that nothing had happened, which actually could have worked if it hadn’t been for Cas.

Castiel was sitting, silent, on the other side of the library with a book in his hands, but he wasn’t reading. He just stared at it. Dean knew for a fact that he hadn’t turned a page for the past twenty minutes, and he didn’t care how complicated a book was; it didn’t take that long to read a single page.

There was some sort of live show broadcasted on the TV, and Dean watched bitterly as people danced and kissed on the screen, celebrating the New Year’s arrival.

If he hadn’t been such an asshole he would have been able to kiss Cas when when clock struck twelve.

The thought came to him uninvited, and it hurt like a bitch. Just like that, it felt as if kissing Cas had been the very purpose of the entire night, and he had completely fucked it up. He wouldn’t have minded it, he realised. Cas’s lips looked as if they were good at kissing, and Dean wondered with a sting to his heart if the other would have kissed him back, had he gotten a chance to try.

It was a useless thing to think about now though, he knew that. Christmas was over; New Year’s was over. Soon they’d be back trudging along in their old tracks once more, romantic gifts and nervous tingles all forgotten, and Dean would never get a new chance. It was a painful thought, bitter and sour all at once. It hurt to realize that if only he hadn’t allowed himself to snap like that, things might have been so different.

He glowered at the sparkly party hats that were lying, unused and forgotten on the other table. They seemed to manifest the failure of this night perfectly.

Dean continued to stare at the TV for another hour, until he wasn’t even sure why he was still watching it. Then Sam suddenly announced, his voice low and mellow, that he was going to bed. Castiel spoke for the first time in hours, volunteering to clean up in the kitchen so that Sam wouldn’t have to. Dean suspected that it was because the other man didn’t want to end up in the library alone with Dean, and his cold glower towards the TV intensified.

He could hear Cas collect the pizza cartons along with their empty beer bottles behind him, but he didn’t offer to help and he didn’t move his eyes away from the TV screen until he heard the other walk out of the library, down the hallway to the kitchen.

Dean stayed put in his seat, but after a few minutes he could hear the clanking of plates and clinking of glass when Cas started doing the dishes. The sounds wound their way through the corridor, across the library and down his spine until they felt like a physical itch beneath his skin, and he hated it.

It wasn't until several minutes had passed that he remembered that they hadn’t used any plates or glasses during dinner. Which meant that whatever Cas was sloshing around in the sink, it sure as hell wasn’t dirty dishes.

He got out of his chair, and slowly made his way into the corridor outside. The sound of running water grew stronger as he approached the kitchen, and when he finally reached it he stopped and leaned in to peer through the doorway.

Castiel was actually doing the dishes, just like he had promised Sam he'd do. In fact, Castiel was currently doing _all_ the dishes, and as Dean watched he saw the other reach up into one of the cabinets, grab a set of clean, stacked plates and place them gingerly in the sink, before he started scrubbing them down with the dish-brush.

Dean looked on as Cas slowly and methodically worked his way through the entire cabinet, washing up pieces of tableware and cutlery that couldn’t possibly be dirty in complete silence. He watched suds of soap stick to Castiel’s hands and forearms, watched the way the shirt strained across his back when he bent down to study his efforts more closely. He looked at his shoulders, his neck, his hair, and suddenly he felt a fear grip around his chest so tightly he could barely breathe.

He took a step back. To leave, to flee, but as he did he saw Castiel’s head turn his way, and he knew that he had been spotted before he even started moving.

As from far away he heard Castiel call out his name behind him, but he didn’t stop, hoping that the other would get the point and leave him alone if he just kept going.

He made it as far as the archway to the library before Cas eventually caught up to him and Dean stopped, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he leaned his left temple against the inside of the doorway with a hard thud.

There was silence. A long, outdrawn stretch of nothing where neither of them said anything. Then Dean heard Castiel's feet shift behind him as the other took a slow step closer.

“Dean… If I’ve done something wrong, I apologise.”

Dean winced, because that wasn’t what this was about at all. He still had his back turned towards the other man, but he could see the look on Castiel’s face inside his head as clearly as had he been staring right at it.

“I don’t know why you’re angry, but I know that it has something to do with me,” Castiel continued. “And I don’t know what I did to upset you, but I want to help fix it.”

Dean snorted out an acrid laugh through his nose.

“You can’t ‘fix’ this, Cas,” he snarled condescendingly. “It’s not something that people can take away just like that.”

“Then what—”

“God Dammit, can’t you leave it alone?” Dean growled, turning around to glare at him and Castiel swallowed thickly.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t think I can,” he answered quietly, and the way he said it, so infuriatingly calm and righteous made the anger flare up inside Dean’s chest again.

This entire situation was all Castiel’s fault to begin with! He’s the one who started it all, so why was it Dean who had to stand here, feeling like an idiot, in the middle of the night? Wasn’t it Cas who was supposed to explain something to him? Like why he had gotten him those stupid gifts in the first place, or why he suddenly thought that it was a good idea to scrub down the entire kitchen for no goddamn reason?

It wasn’t fair!

Dean could feel his hands as they began to shake by his sides, and he slowly balled them into fists, staring Castiel down from his elevated spot on the stairs leading up to the archway.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” he growled. “How about the fact that you still haven’t said a word about what happened last week?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What did you think would happen, Cas?” Dean demanded. “Did you think you could buy me all that stuff, and then act like _nothing_?”

Castiel opened his mouth, and then closed it again, still with that perplexed look on his face, and Dean felt his heart drop.

So he had been right. Castiel hadn’t know what kind of things he had bought him — the message they had sent — and Dean felt the disappointment begin to wind its way through his gut like a poisonous snake. His body went cold, like ice on the inside, and he felt betrayed, though he couldn’t exactly decide by whom.

“Dean… I don’t…” Castiel shook his head, obviously at a loss for words. “I don’t understand,” he said eventually, perhaps more to himself than to Dean. “I thought… When you said you liked them, I thought—”

“I did!” Dean winced, “I still do, that’s the whole problem! Jesus, Cas, you bought me _boyfriend_ gifts!”

For a moment Castiel still looked as if had no idea what the hell Dean was talking about, but then his eyes slowly widened as the realization hit, and Dean had to look away. He heard Cas pull in a sharp breath through his teeth and he could feel his insides churn as they struggled to curl in on themselves.

“That’s the problem,” he repeated, staring at the floor. “You gave me all those things, and I thought that you meant—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, he felt so ashamed.

He could feel Castiel watching him, and Dean wished that he could have just dropped through the floor, right where he stood, because that gaze hurt in ways he couldn’t shield himself from.

He heard a noise push itself out between his lips, and it sounded like a mix between a laugh and a sob.

“So you can’t fix this…” he said wryly. “Because you didn’t mean it, and I was too stupid to realize. I kept hoping, but… I fucked up, Cas. God, I fucked up so bad.”

He tilted his head back, slumping against the doorframe. His eyes locked on to the ceiling, struggling to look everywhere and anywhere but at Castiel, and there it was.

The leaves had lost some of their color, and the berries had turned a more transparent shade of white, but it was still there. Dean stared at the mistletoe without really seeing it. He felt as if it was mocking him. The whole kiss underneath the mistletoe tradition felt nothing but crude and childish now, despite the fact that he had been staring at the damned thing all week, daydreaming about opportunities that he would never dare take.

Castiel was still looking at him, waiting for him to do something, and he took a deep, shivering breath as he closed his eyes, bracing himself for the plunge.

“I thought about kissing you tonight,” he said. He didn’t know why he chose to start with that, but he figured that since he already had, there was no use in turning back.

“I was thinking I could do it at midnight. Like a joke of sorts, to see how you’d react. If you freaked out I could always blame it on tradition. Or the champagne.” He laughed ruefully.

“Sam’s been aware since the start I think. He’s been pushing me, trying to make me admit it all even though I wasn't ready and tonight I just… took my frustration with him out on you. My frustration with myself. I didn’t mean to, and it felt like shit, but I couldn’t—”

He cut himself off, breathing in deeply again to steady himself and his heart skipped an eternity of beats inside his chest when he heard Castiel move closer. His hands were still shaking, but not from anger. He could hear the faint rustle of Castiel’s clothes when he came to a stop right in front of him, and he was so nervous he almost expected his insides to come pouring out of his mouth, they squirmed so much.

“This year ended horribly, and it was all my fault.” His voice cracked as he sucked in a new breath into his straining lungs. “And the worst part is that it wasn’t even worth it,” he winced. “I managed to screw it all up, and you probably hate me right now, but I can’t take it back, Cas, I can’t.”

He forced his eyes open, and this time he could barely see the mistletoe through the blur of his own tears, but the obscure smear of green against white still appeared to taunt him, throwing promises of moments never to happen in his face.

Things couldn’t possibly get any worse now. The fact that Cas still hadn’t fled the scene in horror due to the things Dean had practically dumped on him so far was the only comfort he had left. He thought about Castiel’s face; of his smile, his eyes and his lips, and he decided, right then and there, that if he was going to fuck this up, at least he was going to do it properly.

He reached out, hands fumbling as they found the edge of Castiel’s shoulder, and pulled.

There was no resistance, no sound; nothing that in any way indicated that Dean’s sudden action had caught Castiel by surprise, and when Dean crashed their lips together he sent a silent, pleading prayer out, to whatever deity was willing to listen, that this would not end as badly as he feared it would.

When he pulled back it felt as if he was leaving his very breath behind, and his lungs pulled tight on the other side of his ribs as he forced himself to open his eyes and look Castiel in the eye.

Castiel’s expression hadn’t changed at all from when he last saw it. He was still frowning, and he still looked incredibly confused, and Dean cringed.

He began to pull away, to apologize, to tell Cas that he had made a horrible mistake when Castiel’s hand clasped gently around his shoulder, stopping him, and Dean stilled.

Castiel looked at him then, as if it was the first time he actually _saw_ him, and when Castiel’s lips pressed against his in a soft, closed mouthed kiss moments later, Dean let out a startled, wounded whimper.

The kiss was slow, tender, and over far too soon. It left a tingling sensation on his skin when Castiel moved away, adrenaline making Dean’s heart race when Castiel’s cerulean eyes fluttered up to meet with his.

“Sorry…” the other grated, and Dean’s stomach flipped when he heard the throaty rasp that had snuck its way into Cas’s voice. ”I just felt like that was the most appropriate response.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the time, Castiel’s other hand came up to gently splay cool fingers against his cheek.

“Is this part of it?” he breathed. “Of being human? To feel everything this... intensely?”

Dean swallowed, feeling Castiel’s hand press in closer to cup his jaw when he nodded.

“Do you feel like that?” Castiel asked and Dean nodded again.

“Yeah…” he whispered. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“Then kiss me again…” Castiel pleaded. “Like you said you wanted to before.”

Dean did, for the longest time, and Castiel’s hand left his shoulder to fold gingerly over the nape of his neck instead. It was warm, and Dean wished that warmth would never leave his skin, ever, because at that precise moment, having that hand on him made him feel safer than any salt gun or demon knife ever had.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he murmured against Cas’s lips, and he felt Cas shake his head in response.

“There’s no need,” he whispered. “I would forgive you anything.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Dean promised.

“There’s plenty of time.” Cas smiled, but Dean pulled back slightly. He wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s forearm and pulled the hand away from his neck to press a soft kiss against its wrist.

“Are you sure you don’t mind it then?” he breathed. He didn’t really want to ask, because his insides were trembling with fear that Castiel might say yes, that he did mind, but he had to know.

“I mean, you were practically God’s little altarboy just a few months ago… And this isn’t exactly something the church would be very supportive of.”

Cas sighed, stepping back.

“Even before I fell, I was told that nothing good would come from investing myself in humanity the way I did. My brothers and sisters knew, and they tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. Chose not to listen.” He looked up at Dean, and tilted his head slightly to the side.

“Humanity may have been my downfall,” he said devotedly, ”but my love for you is what makes it all worth it. Loving you has been a part of who I am, of what I have been, for a very long time, Dean. Being allowed to kiss you now will not change anything.”

His eyes narrowed, his head tilting the other way.

“If you’re worried that I’m not aware of the consequences of homosexuality, I can assure you that’s not the case. Sam already explained that to me the other day.”

“Sam?” Dean asked. “Why did you— “

“I was worried that my clothes for Christmas would not be considered cheerful enough. Sam was kind enough to correct me.”

Dean licked his lips, trying his best to wrap his head around what the hell the other man was talking about.

“Tell you what,” he said slowly. “I’m going to drop this topic now, and then you can explain all that stuff to me later.”

“Of course,” Castiel answered solemnly.

“Good,” Dean nodded, and then he kissed the former angel again, bringing both his arms up and around to pull Castiel’s body close to his, sighing contentedly when he felt Castiel follow willingly with the movement.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Dean felt from deep down in his soul how something eased up and dissolved, scattering like dust in the wind beneath the insistent pressure of Castiel’s lips.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he truly felt like things were going to be just fine.

 

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Please comment so that I can improve my writing :)


End file.
